Paint My Eyes , Show Me The World
by NerdAndProudForever
Summary: There's a reason nobody's allowed in Sherlock's room. He hides a very deep dark secret. A secret that apparently comes in all colours of the rainbow.


**This work is dedicated to my friends - Saniya , Madhumanti and Ishani. I hope you like it! And everyone else , I love you too! REMEMBER , REVIEWS ARE LOVE**

**Disclaimer : I don't own the characters or the song.**

* * *

In all the time that John had lived with Sherlock , he had never seen his room. He couldn't even if he wanted to because Sherlock actually kept the door on a lock.

"A bloody lock!" , John grumbled to Sherlock one day on a crime scene. A man was lying on the ground , with two bullet holes in his chest. But that was the least of John's concerns.

"How am I going to clean it , since I know you aren't going to?" , he said and Greg , who overheard , sniggered.

"Let's just hope he hasn't got dead bodies there , eh?" , he smirked.

Sherlock grumbled. "I will have you know I would never hide bodies in my own flat" , he said and swished around , his coat turning gracefully , and went inside Scotland Yard.

"There is a man lying dead. Just go get that man and soothe his fucking bruised ego" , DI Dimmock , who had been called as a consultant , complained.

John smiled but followed Sherlock. "Aren't you going to ask me who did it?" , Sherlock asked , as he slowed down his speed , so that John could catch up.

"I already know you figured it out 5 minutes ago" , John snorted and a permanent smile etched onto Sherlock's face for the night.

* * *

Sherlock had gone to Russia.

John knew that he should have gone with the git , but he would lose his job if he didn't show up for work. He packed Sherlock's clothes while Sherlock grumbled on and on about him being a 'mother hen'

He finally left , with a promise for him to not get shot , eaten , burned , or smoked alive (Trust me , you do not need to know the story behind **THAT** one)

Anyways , John had left Sherlock at the airport , and was at his flat , enjoying a cup of tea when he noticed that Sherlock's room.. wasn't locked.

He raised an eyebrow to himself , and got up , setting the tea aside. Did Sherlock forget to lock his room?

"_Sherlock doesn't forget"_ , John reasoned.

"_Yes , he does. You adore him far too much to see his flaws , Barnacle Boy. He forgot to get the milk yesterday and you said nothing_" , his voice prattled in his own head.

"_Barnacle boy?_" , John's head answered with rage and he shook his head , trying to clear his thoughts.

"2 hours without Sherlock , and I'm already going insane" , he said aloud and tentatively , pushed the door aside.

It opened with gliding ease. He pushed it more , until it was fully open. He stepped inside and fumbled around with the light switch for a while before switching it on.

His vision cleared and he came face to face with something he never expected to see.

It was paint. Strewn everywhere.

Paint bottles were strewn all over the floor , and there were splashes of paints on the walls , and there might have been around 50 canvases lying around , some of them still wet , it seemed.

John was speechless. Sherlock painted? He never knew.

He trudged around the messy room , and came face to face with a canvas. It caught his eye.

It was him.

He was smiling. But his eyes had pain. Is this how Sherlock viewed John?

John touched the painting and took all the colours. Red highlighting the blush in his cheeks , his signature brown cardigan and sandy brown pants. Various strokes made with a small paintbrush for his blond hair. He looked more attractive than he was on canvas.

John suddenly started laughing to himself. This was Sherlock's big secret.

He _paints_.

He was living with a child.

* * *

"How was your trip?" , John asked cheerfully , sitting on the sofa , opening a newspaper. Sherlock actually smiled so John concluded the case had gone well. "It was fantastic , John. The brother who had been arrested for arson was actually the accomplice while-" , Sherlock started but John stopped him with a show of hands.

"While I'm sure this is all fascinating , I have a gift for you" , he said , pointing at the small package lying on their tea table.

"You.. um.. shouldn't have" , Sherlock stuttered , all the bravado gone from his voice. _Had this man ever been given a gift by a friend?_ , John wondered.

Sherlock looked at John who smiled encouragingly at him , and opened the package.

It was a gift card to Maziko's Art Supplies.

John got up from his chair in haste and coughed awkwardly. "I didn't know what type of paints you like , so I got you a gift card. You can go buy the paints you like yourself" , John said and Sherlock actually looked awe-struck.

"Um. John. Thank you" , he stuttered and cleared his throat , immediately resorting back to Sherlock-mode. "I'm sure these will be of immense help. Your contribution has been noted" , he said hurriedly and raced to his room door , and snapped it shut with a loud bang.

John was about to ask Sherlock if he wanted a tea , but he stopped when he heard singing coming out of Sherlock's room. He listened closely and he realised it was Sherlock himself singing these words. At the top of his lungs , apparently. He listened to the words , and he recognised the song immediately.

"_You're very presence turns me blue_

_It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you_

_And every picture that I paint doesn't capture you_

_You're very presence turns me dear_

_It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you_

_And every picture that I paint doesn't capture you_"

Needless to say , he blushed like a schoolgirl.

* * *

**The song Sherlock sings in the end is -**

** Teenage Fanclub - Every Picture I paint**

**Its a rather beautiful song! :)**


End file.
